Page 29 of One Twisted Lie

“No,” I end up saying, shaking my head as I let out a deep breath. “Of course not.”

He gives me a quick nod. “Good.”

“Are you finally going to tell me what I’m supposed to be doing?” I ask, curiosity burning brightly within me. Maybe if I understood his reasoning, this sticky, damp feeling in my chest would go away. The feeling that’s telling me that what I’m doing with Carter is wrong, not because we’re fucking, but because some semblance of trust has been built that is starting to make me crumble.

“No.”

Such a simple response. My father gives nothing away, per usual. We’ve always been a rather frank family, but sensitive things involving the business are still his only priority, his only secret. It was the same way when we took over another small rival company, and it was the same when he ousted his vice president. He likes to keep certain things close to his chest and, usually, these things are the unsavory, dark part of owning a billion-dollar business.

I can’t push because he’d know. Father isn’t an idiot, and his fortune hasn’t been amassed by overlooking the small details. I suck in a slow breath because this is for the good of the family, the good of the business, and the good of my future.

It can’t be too bad, right?

Chapter 15

Ozymandias

Later that day, I’m both mentally and physically exhausted—mentally from dealing with my parents earlier and physically because Carter just gave me a pounding.

“So…how were things with your parents?” I ask the question I’ve been holding back, craning my head up from its position on his sweaty bare chest.

He pushes his glasses up his nose as he looks down at me, his fingers absentmindedly and gently scratching the back of my neck. “As to be expected.Carter, do thisandCarter, do that.”

My nose scrunches up. “What is it they want you to do?”

“That stupid program I’ve been working on all year,” he groans, throwing his head back as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I swear, I’m going to die working on it.”

“Is there nobody else that can do it?”

“Nobody as smart as me.”

“The perils of being a boy genius,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Fucking arrogant asshole—Ow!” I yelp, flipping him off after he pinches my side. “Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you,” he spits, gritting his teeth. “It’s tough. They expect so much from me. It’s like this is all I’m good for to them.”

I sigh. I can see the stress written all over his face. Before this, he was all blissed out, satiated by me and my all-star ass, but now he’s close to a wreck. There are crease marks on his forehead, signs of worry and tension someone his age shouldn’t have. His jaw is set sharply, his fists clenching and unclenching on my neck and hip.

Maybe at one point, I would have liked this. His distress and anxiety would have amused me, but not anymore. Now it’s like it becomes harder to breathe when he’s like this, like my body can’t be physically okay until he is.

“I’m sorry, okay,” I whisper, kissing his chest. “That sounds rough.”

His fists unclench, and I can see something drain out of him. His dark eyes soften as he brushes his thumb across my forehead. “Thank you. They asked me if I was actually hanging out with you.”

“And?” I press. “What did you say?”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he scoffs. “I told them I wasn’t.”

It is idiotic to think that he would tell them anything else, but it still burns. I hate that it does because it shouldn’t. This is supposed to be nothing more than sating our curiosities and experimenting with a relatively safe partner. Of course, it’s also honoring a request my dad made. And perhaps it’s even more than all that for me. But that’s not something I care to think about.

I don’t say anything else, just continue to lay on top of him, my legs tangled with his, cupped at his side, my fingers tracing a pattern against his stomach. He tugs at the back of my neck a bit. “Come on. What was I supposed to say? I’m fucking him every day and I fucking like him now?”

A let out a little gasp, my ears turning hot and an unwilling smile forming on my face as I poke his stomach. “You like me?”

He snorts as he reaches down to smack my ass, rolling his eyes when I continue to smile. “Well, I don’t fucking hate you, do I?”

I hum contently, snuggling in closer to him. At first, I was appalled by the notion of any sort ofcuddlinghappening between us. It was too personal, too intimate, but now I find that I like this more than I thought I would. After being brutally fucked and degraded—which my body absolutely loves—this is nice. I close my eyes and focus on the beating of his heart. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I get why you didn’t say anything.”

“Why did your dad say we were friends in the first place?” he asks. “Seems fucking weird to me.”

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